inadvertent cause of strange and painful emotions, left the wish behindthem, that this meeting might not be the last. Charlotte now made use ofthe beautiful weather to return visits in the neighborhood, which,indeed, gave her work enough to do, seeing that the whole country round,some from a real interest, some merely from custom, had been mostattentive in calling to inquire after her. At home her delight was thesight of the child, and really it well deserved all love and interest.People, saw in it a wonderful, indeed a miraculous child; the brightest,sunniest little face; a fine, well-proportioned body, strong andhealthy; and what surprised them more, the double resemblance, whichbecame more and more conspicuous. In figure and in the features of theface, it was like the Captain; the eyes every day it was less easy todistinguish from the eyes of Ottilie.

Ottilie herself, partly from this remarkable affinity, perhaps stillmore under the influence of that sweet woman's feeling which makes themregard with the most tender affection the offspring, even by another, ofthe man they love, was as good as a mother to the little creature as itgrew, or rather, she was a second mother of another kind. If Charlottewas absent, Ottilie remained alone with the child and the nurse. Nannyhad for some time past been jealous of the boy for monopolizing theentire affections of her mistress; she had left her in a fit ofcrossness, and gone back to her mother. Ottilie would carry the childabout in the open air, and by degrees took longer and longer walks withit, carrying a bottle of milk to give the child its food when it wantedany. Generally, too, she took a book with her; and so with the child inher arms, reading and wandering, she made a very pretty Penserosa.

CHAPTER XII

The object of the campaign was attained, and Edward, with crosses anddecorations, was honorably dismissed. He betook himself at once to thesame little estate, where he found exact accounts of his family waitingfor him, on whom all this time, without their having observed it orknown of it, a sharp watch had been kept under his orders. His quietresidence looked most sweet and pleasant when he reached it. Inaccordance with his orders, various improvements had been made in hisabsence, and what was wanting to the establishment in extent, wascompensated by its internal comforts and conveniences. Edward,accustomed by his more active habits of life to take decided steps,determined to execute a project which he had had sufficient time tothink over. First of all, he invited the Major to come to him. Thispleasure in meeting again was very great to both of them. Thefriendships of boyhood, like relationship of blood, possess thisimportant advantage, that mistakes and misunderstandings never produceirreparable injury; and the old regard after a time will alwaysreestablish itself.

Edward began with inquiring about the situation of his friend, andlearnt that fortune had favored him exactly as he most could havewished. He then half-seriously asked whether there was not somethinggoing forward about a marriage; to which he received a most decided andpositive denial.

"I cannot and will not have any reserve with you," he proceeded. "I willtell you at once what my own feelings are, and what I intend to do. Youknow my passion for Ottilie; you must long have comprehended that it wasthis which drove me into the campaign. I do not deny that I desire to berid of a life which, without her, would be of no further value to me. Atthe same time, however, I acknowledge that I could never bring myselfutterly to despair. The prospect of happiness with her was so beautiful,so infinitely charming, that it was not possible for me entirely torenounce it. Feelings, too, which I cannot explain, and a number ofhappy omens, have combined to strengthen me in the belief, in theassurance, that Ottilie will one day be mine. The glass with ourinitials cut upon it, which was thrown into the air when thefoundation-stone was laid, did not go to pieces; it was caught, and Ihave it again in my possession. After many miserable hours ofuncertainty, spent in this place, I said to myself, 'I will put myselfin the place of this glass, and it shall be an omen whether our union bepossible or not. I will go; I will seek for death; not like a madman,but like a man who still hopes that he may live. Ottilie shall be theprize for which I fight. Ottilie shall be behind the ranks of the enemy;in every intrenchment, in every beleaguered fortress, I shall hope tofind her, and to win her. I will do wonders, with the wish to survivethem; with the hope to gain Ottilie, not to lose her.' These feelingshave led me on; they have stood by me through all dangers; and now Ifind myself like one who has arrived at his goal, who has overcomeevery difficulty and who has nothing more left in his way. Ottilie ismine, and whatever lies between the thought and the execution of it, Ican only regard as unimportant."

"With a few strokes you blot out," replied the Major, "all theobjections that we can or ought to urge upon you, and yet they must berepeated. I must leave it to yourself to recall the full value of yourrelation with your wife; but you owe it to her, and you owe it toyourself, not to close your eyes to it. How can I so much as recollectthat you have had a son given to you, without acknowledging at once thatyou two belong to each other forever; that you are bound, for thislittle creature's sake, to live united, that united you may educate itand provide for its future welfare?"

"It is no more than the blindness of parents," answered Edward, "whenthey imagine their existence to be of so much importance to theirchildren. Whatever lives, finds nourishment and finds assistance; and ifthe son who has early lost his father does not spend so easy, so favoreda youth, he profits, perhaps, for that very reason, in being trainedsooner for the world, and comes to a timely knowledge that he mustaccommodate himself to others, a thing sooner or later we are all forcedto learn. Here, however even these considerations are irrelevant; weare sufficiently well off to be able to provide for more children thanone, and it is neither right nor kind to accumulate so large a propertyon a single head."

The Major attempted to say something of Charlotte's worth, and Edward'slong-standing attachment to her; but the latter hastily interrupted him."We committed ourselves to a foolish thing, that I see all too clearly.Whoever, in middle age, attempts to realize the wishes and hopes of hisearly youth, invariably deceives himself. Each ten years of a man's lifehas its own fortunes, its own hopes, its own desires. Woe to him who,either by circumstances or by his own infatuation, is induced to graspat anything before him or behind him. We have done a foolish thing. Arewe to abide by it all our lives? Are we, from some respect of prudence,to refuse to ourselves what the customs of the age do not forbid? In howmany matters do men recall their intentions and their actions; and shallit not be allowed to them here, here, where the question is not of thisthing or of that, but of everything; not of our single condition oflife, but of the whole complex life itself?"

Again the Major powerfully and impressively urged on Edward to considerwhat he owed to his wife, what was due to his family, to the world, andto his own position; but he could not succeed in producing the slightestimpression.

"All these questions, my friend," he returned, "I have consideredalready again and again. They have passed before me in the storm ofbattle, when the earth was shaking with the thunder of the cannon, withthe balls singing and whistling around me, with my comrades fallingright and left, my horse shot under me, my hat pierced with bullets.They have floated before me by the still watch-fire under the starryvault of the sky. I have thought them all through, felt them allthrough. I have weighed them, and I have satisfied myself about themagain and again, and now forever. At such moments why should I notacknowledge it to you? You too were in my thoughts, you too belonged tomy circle; as, indeed, you and I have long belonged to each other. If Ihave ever been in your debt I am now in a position to repay it withinterest; if you have been in mine you have now the means to make itgood to me. I know that you love Charlotte, and she deserves it. I knowthat you are not indifferent to her, and why should she not feel yourworth? Take her at my hand and give Ottilie to me, and we shall be thehappiest beings upon the earth."

"If you choose to assign me so high a character," replied the Major, "itis the more reason for me to be firm and prudent. Whatever there may bein this proposal to make it attractive to me, instead of simplifying theproblem, it only increases the difficulty of it. The question is now ofme as well as of you. The fortunes, the good name, the honor of two men,hitherto unsullied with a breath, will be exposed to hazard by sostrange a proceeding, to call it by no harsher name, and we shall appearbefore the world in a highly questionable light."

"Our very characters being what they are," replied Edward, "give us aright to take this single liberty. A man who has borne himself honorablythrough a whole life, makes an action honorable which might appearambiguous in others. As concerns myself, after these last trials which Ihave taken upon myself, after the difficult and dangerous actions whichI have accomplished for others, I feel entitled now to do something formyself. For you and Charlotte, that part of the business may, if youlike it, be given up; but neither you nor any one shall keep me fromdoing what I have determined. If I may look for help and furtherance, Ishall be ready to do everything which can be wished; but if I am to beleft to myself, or if obstacles are to be thrown in my way, someextremity or other is sure to follow."

The Major thought it his duty to combat Edward's purposes as long as itwas possible; and now he changed the mode of his attack and tried adiversion. He seemed to give way, and only spoke of the form of whatthey would have to do to bring about this separation, and these newunions; and so mentioned a number of ugly, undesirable matters, whichthrew Edward into the worst of tempers.

"I see plainly," he cried at last, "that what we desire can only becarried by storm, whether it be from our enemies or from our friends. Ikeep clearly before my own eyes what I demand, what, one way or another,I must have; and I will seize it promptly and surely. Connections likeours, I know very well, cannot be broken up and reconstructed againwithout much being thrown down which is standing, and much having togive way which would be glad enough to continue. We shall come to noconclusion by thinking about it. All rights are alike to theunderstanding, and it is always easy to throw extra weight into theascending scale. Do you makeup your mind, my friend, to act, and actpromptly, for me and for yourself. Disentangle and untie the knots, andtie them up again. Do not be deterred from it by nice respects. We havealready given the world something to say about us. It will talk about usonce more; and when we have ceased to be a nine days' wonder, it willforget us as it forgets everything else, and allow us to follow our ownway without further concern with us." The Major had nothing further tosay, and was at last obliged to sit silent; while Edward treated theaffair as now conclusively settled, talked through in detail all thathad to be done, and pictured the future in every most cheerful color,and then he went on again seriously and thoughtfully: "If we think toleave ourselves to the hope, to the expectation, that all will go rightagain of itself, that accident will lead us straight, and take care ofus, it will be a most culpable self-deception. In such a way it would beimpossible for us to save ourselves, or reestablish our peace again. Iwho have been the innocent cause of it all, how am I ever to consolemyself? By my own importunity I prevailed on Charlotte to write to youto stay with us; and Ottilie followed in consequence. We have had nomore control over what ensued out of this, but we have the power tomake it innocuous; to guide the new circumstances to our own happiness.Can you turn away your eyes from the fair and beautiful prospects whichI open to us? Can you insist to me, can you insist to us all, on awretched renunciation of them? Do you think it possible? Is it possible?Will there be no vexations, no bitterness, no inconvenience to overcome,if we resolve to fall back into our old state? and will any good, anyhappiness whatever, arise out of it? Will your own rank, will the highposition which you have earned, be any pleasure to you, if you are to beprevented from visiting me, or from living with me? And after what haspassed, it would not be anything but painful. Charlotte and I, with allour property, would only find ourselves in a melancholy state. And if,like other men of the world, you can persuade yourself that years andseparation will eradicate our feelings, will obliterate impressions sodeeply engraved; why, then the question is of these very years, which itwould be better to spend in happiness and comfort than in pain andmisery. But the last and most important point of all which I have tourge is this: supposing that we, our outward and inward condition beingwhat it is, could nevertheless make up our minds to wait at all hazards,and bear what is laid upon us, what is to become of Ottilie? She mustleave our family; she must go into society where we shall not be to carefor her, and she will be driven wretchedly to and fro in a hard, coldworld. Describe to me any situation in which Ottilie, without me,without us, could be happy, and you will then have employed an argumentwhich will be stronger than every other; and if I will not promise toyield to it, if I will not undertake at once to give up all my ownhopes, I will at least reconsider the question, and see how what youhave said will affect it."

This problem was not so easy to solve; at least, no satisfactory answerto it suggested itself to his friend, and nothing was left to him exceptto insist again and again, how grave and serious, and in many senses howdangerous, the whole undertaking was; and at least that they oughtmaturely to consider how they had better enter upon it. Edward agreed tothis, and consented to wait before he took any steps; but only under thecondition that his friend should not leave him until they had come to aperfect understanding about it, and until the first measures had beentaken.

CHAPTER XIII

Men who are complete strangers, and wholly indifferent to one another,if they live a long time together, are sure both of them to exposesomething of their inner nature, and thus a kind of intimacy will arisebetween them. All the more was it to be expected that there would soonbe no secrets between our two friends, now that they were again underthe same roof together, and in daily and hourly intercourse. They wentover again the earlier stages of their history, and the Major confessedto Edward that Charlotte had intended Ottilie for him at the time atwhich he returned from abroad, and hoped that some time or other hemight marry her. Edward was in ecstasies at this discovery; he spokewithout reserve of the mutual affection of Charlotte and the Major,which, because it happened to fall in so conveniently with his ownwishes, he painted in very lively colors.

Deny it altogether, the Major could not; at the same time, he could notaltogether acknowledge it. But Edward only insisted on it the more. Hehad pictured the whole thing to himself not as possible, but as alreadyconcluded; all parties had only to resolve on what they all wished;there would be no difficulty in obtaining a separation; the marriagesshould follow as soon after as possible, and Edward could travel withOttilie.

Of all the pleasant things which imagination pictures to us, perhapsthere is none more charming than when lovers and young married peoplelook forward to enjoying their new relation to each other in a fresh,new world, and test the endurance of the bond between them in so manychanging circumstances. The Major and Charlotte were in the meantime tohave unrestricted powers to settle all questions of money, property, andother such important worldly matters; and to do whatever was right andproper for the satisfaction of all parties. What Edward dwelt the mostupon, however, what he seemed to promise himself the most advantage fromwas this:--as the child would have to remain with the mother, the Majorwould charge himself with the education of it; he would train the boyaccording to his own views, and develop what capacities there might bein him. It was not for nothing that he had received in his baptism thename of Otto, which belonged to them both.

Edward had so completely arranged everything for himself, that he couldnot wait another day to carry it into execution. On their way to thecastle, they arrived at a small town, where Edward had a house, andwhere he was to stay to await the return of the Major. He could not,however, prevail upon himself to alight there at once, and accompaniedhis friend through the place. They were both on horseback, and fallinginto some interesting conversation, rode on further together.

On a sudden they saw, in the distance, the new house on the height, withits red tiles shining in the sun. An irresistible longing came overEdward; he would have it all settled that very evening; he would remainconcealed in a village close by. The Major was to urge the business onCharlotte with all his power; he would take her prudence by surprise;and oblige her by the unexpectedness of his proposal to make a freeacknowledgment of her feelings. Edward had transferred his own wishes toher; he felt certain that he was only meeting her half-way, and that herinclinations were as decided as his own; and he looked for an immediateconsent from her, because he himself could think of nothing else.

Joyfully he saw the prosperous issue before his eyes; and that it mightbe communicated to him as swiftly as possible, a few cannon shots wereto be fired off, and if it was dark, a rocket or two sent up.

The Major rode to the castle. He did not find Charlotte there; he learntthat for the present she was staying at the new house; at thatparticular time, however, she was paying a visit in the neighborhood,and she probably would not have returned till late that evening. Hewalked back to the hotel, to which he had previously sent his horse.

Edward, in the meantime, unable to sit still from restlessness andimpatience, stole away out of his concealment along solitary paths knownonly to foresters and fishermen, into his park; and he found himselftoward evening in the copse close to the lake, the broad mirror of whichhe now for the first time saw spread out in its perfectness before him.

Ottilie had gone out that afternoon for a walk along the shore. She hadthe child with her, and read as she usually did while she went along.She had gone as far as the oak-tree by the ferry. The boy had fallenasleep; she sat down; laid it on the ground at her side, and continuedreading. The book was one of those which attract persons of delicatefeeling, and afterward will not let them go again. She forgot the timeand the hours; she never thought what a long way round it was by land tothe new house; but she sat lost in her book and in herself, so beautifulto look at, that the trees and the bushes round her ought to have beenalive, and to have had eyes given them to gaze upon her and admire her.The sun was sinking; a ruddy streak of light fell upon her from behind,tinging with gold her cheek and shoulder. Edward, who had made his wayto the lake without being seen, finding his park desolate, and no traceof human creature to be seen anywhere, went on and on. At last he brokethrough the copse behind the oak-tree, and saw her. At the same momentshe saw him. He flew to her, and threw himself at her feet. After along, silent pause, in which they both endeavored to collect themselves,he explained in a few words why and how he had come there. He had sentthe Major to Charlotte; and perhaps at that moment their common destinywas being decided. Never had he doubted her affection, and she assuredlyhad never doubted his. He begged for her consent; she hesitated; heimplored her. He offered to resume his old privilege, and throw his armsaround her, and embrace her; she pointed down to the child.

Edward looked at it, and was amazed. "Great God!" he cried; "if I hadcause to doubt my wife and my friend, this face would witness fearfullyagainst them. Is not this the very image of the Major? I never saw sucha likeness."

"Indeed!" replied Ottilie; "all the world say it is like me."

"Is it possible?" Edward answered; and at the moment the child openedits eyes--two large, black, piercing eyes, deep and full of love;already the little face was full of intelligence. He seemed as if heknew both the figures which he saw standing before him. Edward threwhimself down beside the child, and then knelt a second time beforeOttilie. "It is you," he cried; "the eyes are yours! ah, but let me lookinto yours; let me throw a veil over that ill-starred hour which gaveits being to this little creature. Shall I shock your pure spirit withthe fearful thought, that man and wife who are estranged from eachother, can yet press each other to their heart, and profane the bonds bywhich the law unites them by other eager wishes? Oh yes! As I have saidso much; as my connection with Charlotte must now be severed; as youwill be mine, why should I not speak out the words to you? This child isthe offspring of a double adultery. It should have been a tie between mywife and myself; but it severs her from me, and me from her. Let itwitness, then, against me. Let these fair eyes say to yours, that in thearms of another I belonged to you. You must feel, Ottilie, oh! you mustfeel, that my fault, my crime, I can only expiate in your arms."

"Hark!" he called out, as he sprang up and listened. He thought that hehad heard a shot, and that it was the sign which the Major was to give.It was the gun of a forester on the adjoining hill. Nothing followed.Edward grew impatient.

Ottilie now first observed that the sun was down behind the mountains;its last rays were shining on the windows of the house above. "Leave me,Edward," she cried; "go. Long as we have been parted, much as we haveborne, yet remember what we both owe to Charlotte. She must decide ourfate; do not let us anticipate her judgment. I am yours if she willpermit it to be so. If she will not, I must renounce you. As you thinkit is now so near an issue, let us wait. Go back to the village, wherethe Major supposes you to be. Is it likely that a rude cannon-shot willinform you of the results of such an interview? Perhaps at this momenthe is seeking for you. He will not have found Charlotte at home; of thatI am certain. He may have gone to meet her; for they knew at the castlewhere she was. How many things may have happened! Leave me! she must beat home by this time; she is expecting me there with the baby."

Ottilie spoke hurriedly; she called together all the possibilities. Itwas too delightful to be with Edward; but she felt that he must nowleave her. "I beseech, I implore you, my beloved," she cried out; "goback and wait for the Major."

"I obey your commands," cried Edward. He gazed at her for a moment withrapturous love, and then caught her close in his arms. She wound her ownabout him, and pressed him tenderly to her breast. Hope streamed away,like a star shooting in the sky, above their heads. They thought then,they believed, that they did indeed belong to each other. For the firsttime they exchanged free, genuine kisses, and separated with pain andeffort.

The sun had gone down. It was twilight, and a damp mist was rising aboutthe lake. Ottilie stood confused and agitated. She looked across to thehouse on the hill, and she thought she saw Charlotte's white dress onthe balcony.

It was a long way round by the end of the lake; and she knew howimpatiently Charlotte would be waiting for the child. She saw theplane-trees just opposite her, and only a narrow interval of waterdivided her from the path which led straight up to the house. Hernervousness about venturing on the water with the child vanished in herpresent embarrassment. She hastened to the boat; she did not feel thather heart was beating; that her feet were tottering; that her senseswere threatening to fail her.

She sprang in, seized the oar, and pushed off. She had to use force; shepushed again. The boat shot off, and glided, swaying and rocking intothe open water. With the child in her left arm, the book in her lefthand, and the oar in her right, she lost her footing, and fell over theseat; the oar slipped from her on one side, and as she tried to recoverherself, the child and the book slipped on the other, all into thewater. She caught the floating dress, but lying entangled as she washerself, she was unable to rise. Her right hand was free, but she couldnot reach round to help herself up with it; at last she succeeded. Shedrew the child out of the water; but its eyes were closed, and it hadceased to breathe.

In a moment, she recovered all her self-possession; but so much thegreater was her agony; the boat was drifting fast into the middle of thelake; the oar was swimming far away from her. She saw no one on theshore; and, indeed, if she had, it would have been of no service to her.Cut off from all assistance, she was floating on the faithless, unstableelement.

She sought for help from herself; she had often heard of the recovery ofthe drowned; she had herself witnessed an instance of it on the eveningof her birthday; she took off the child's clothes, and dried it with hermuslin dress; she threw open her bosom, laying it bare for the firsttime to the free heaven. For the first time she pressed a living beingto her pure, naked breast.

[Illustration: OTTILIE. _From the Painting by Wilhelm von Kaulbach_]

Alas! and it was not a living being. The cold limbs of the ill-starredlittle creature chilled her to the heart. Streams of tears gushed fromher eyes, and lent a show of life and warmth to the outside of thetorpid limbs. She persevered with her efforts; she wrapped it in hershawl, she drew it close to herself, stroked it, breathed upon it, andwith tears and kisses labored to supply the help which, cut off as shewas, she was unable to find.

It was all in vain; the child lay motionless in her arms; motionless theboat floated on the glassy water. But even here her beautiful spirit didnot leave her forsaken. She turned to the Power above. She sank downupon her knees in the boat, and with both arms raised the unmoving childabove her innocent breast, like marble in its whiteness; alas, too, likemarble, cold; with moist eyes she looked up and cried for help, where atender heart hopes to find it in its fulness when all other help hasfailed.

The stars were beginning one by one to glimmer down upon her; she turnedto them and not in vain; a soft air stole over the surface, and waftedthe boat under the plane-trees.

CHAPTER XIV

She hurried to the new house, and called the surgeon and gave the childinto his hands. It was carried at once to Charlotte's sleeping-room.Cool and collected from a wide experience, he submitted the tender bodyto the usual process. Ottilie stood by him through it all. She preparedeverything, she fetched everything, but as if she were moving in anotherworld; for the height of misfortune, like the height of happiness,alters the aspect of every object. And it was only when, after everyresource had been exhausted, the good man shook his head, and to herquestions, whether there was hope, first was silent, and then answeredwith a gentle No! that she left the apartment, and had scarcely enteredthe sitting-room, when she fell fainting, with her face upon the carpet,unable to reach the sofa.

At that moment Charlotte was heard driving up. The surgeon implored theservants to keep back, and allow him to go to meet her and prepare her.But he was too late; while he was speaking she had entered thedrawing-room. She found Ottilie on the ground, and one of the girls ofthe house came running and screaming to her open-mouthed. The surgeonentered at the same moment, and she was informed of everything. Shecould not at once, however, give up all hope. She was flying up stairsto the child, but the physician besought her to remain where she was. Hewent himself, to deceive her with a show of fresh exertions, and she satdown upon the sofa. Ottilie was still lying on the ground; Charlotteraised her, and supported her against herself, and her beautiful headsank down upon her knee. The kind medical man went backward and forward;he appeared to be busy about the child; his real care was for theladies; and so came on midnight, and the stillness grew more and moredeathly. Charlotte did not try to conceal from herself any longer thather child would never return to life again. She desired to see it now.It had been wrapped up in warm woolen coverings. And it was brought downas it was, lying in its cot, which was placed at her side on the sofa.The little face was uncovered; and there it lay in its calm sweetbeauty.

The report of the accident soon spread through the village; every onewas aroused, and the story reached the hotel. The Major hurried up thewell-known road; he went round and round the house; at last he met aservant who was going to one of the out-buildings to fetch something. Helearnt from him in what state things were, and desired him to tell thesurgeon that he was there. The latter came out, not a little surprisedat the appearance of his old patron. He told him exactly what hadhappened, and undertook to prepare Charlotte to see him. He then wentin, began some conversation to distract her attention, and led herimagination from one object to another, till at last he brought it torest upon her friend, and the depth of feeling and of sympathy whichwould surely be called out in him. From the imaginative she was broughtat once to the real. Enough! she was informed that he was at the door,that he knew everything and desired to be admitted.

The Major entered. Charlotte received him with a miserable smile. Hestood before her; she lifted off the green silk covering under which thebody was lying; and by the dim light of a taper, he saw before him, notwithout a secret shudder, the stiffened image of himself. Charlottepointed to a chair, and there they sat opposite each other, withoutspeaking, through the night. Ottilie was still lying motionless onCharlotte's knee; she breathed softly, and slept or seemed to sleep.

The morning dawned, the lights went out; the two friends appeared toawake out of a heavy dream. Charlotte looked toward the Major, and saidquietly: "Tell me through what circumstances you have been broughthither, to take part in this mourning scene."

"The present is not a time," the Major answered, in the same low tone asthat in which Charlotte had spoken, for fear lest she might disturbOttilie; "this is not a time, and this is not a place for reserve. Thecondition in which I find you is so fearful that even the earnest matteron which I am here loses its importance by the side of it." He theninformed her, quite calmly and simply, of the object of his mission, inso far as he was the ambassador of Edward; of the object of his coming,in so far as his own free will and his own interests were concerned init. He laid both before her, delicately but uprightly; Charlottelistened quietly, and showed neither surprise nor unwillingness.

As soon as the Major had finished, she replied, in a voice so light thatto catch her words he was obliged to draw his chair closer to her: "Insuch a case as this I have never before found myself; but in similarcases I have always said to myself, how will it be tomorrow? I feel veryclearly that the fate of many persons is now in my hands, and what Ihave to do is soon said without scruple or hesitation. I consent to theseparation; I ought to have made up my mind to it before; by myunwillingness and reluctance I have destroyed my child. There arecertain things on which destiny obstinately insists. In vain may reason,may virtue, may duty, may all holy feelings place themselves in its way.Something shall be done which to it seems good, and which to us seemsnot good; and it forces its own way through at last, let us conductourselves as we will.

"And, indeed, what am I saying? It is but my own desire, my own purpose,against which I acted so unthinkingly, which destiny is again bringingin my way? Did I not long ago, in my thoughts, design Edward and Ottiliefor each other? Did I not myself labor to bring them together? And you,my friend, you yourself were an accomplice in my plot. Why, why, could Inot distinguish mere man's obstinacy from real love? Why did I accepthis hand, when I could have made him happy as a friend, and when anothercould have made him happy as a wife? And now, look here on this unhappyslumberer. I tremble for the moment when she will recover out of thishalf death-sleep into consciousness. How can she endure to live? Howshall she ever console herself, if she may not hope to make good that toEdward, of which, as the instrument of the most wonderful destiny, shehas deprived him? And she can make it all good again by the passion, bythe devotion with which she loves him. If love be able to bear allthings, it is able to do yet more; it can restore all things; of myselfat such a moment I may not think.

"Do you go quietly away, my dear Major; say to Edward that I consent tothe separation; that I leave it to him, to you, and to Mittler, tosettle whatever is to be done. I have no anxiety for my own futurecondition; it may be what it will; it is nothing to me. I will subscribewhatever paper is submitted to me, only he must not require me to joinactively. I cannot have to think about it, or give advice."

The Major rose to go. She stretched out her hand to him across Ottilie.He pressed it to his lips, and whispered gently: "And for myself, may Ihope anything?"

"Do not ask me now!" replied Charlotte. "I will tell you another time.We have not deserved to be miserable; but neither can we say that wehave deserved to be happy together."

The Major left her, and went, feeling for Charlotte to the bottom of hisheart, but not being able to be sorry for the fate of the poor child.Such an offering seemed necessary to him for their general happiness. Hepictured Ottilie to himself with a child of her own in her arms, as themost perfect compensation for the one of which she had deprived Edward.He pictured himself with his own son on his knee, who should have betterright to resemble him than the one which was departed.

With such flattering hopes and fancies passing through his mind, hereturned to the hotel, and on his way back he met Edward, who had beenwaiting for him the whole night through in the open air, since neitherrocket nor report of cannon would bring him news of the successful issueof his undertaking. He had already heard of the misfortune; and he too,instead of being sorry for the poor creature, regarded what had befallenit, without being exactly ready to confess it to himself, as aconvenient accident, through which the only impediment in the way of hishappiness was at once removed.

The Major at once informed him of his wife's resolution, and hetherefore easily allowed himself to be prevailed upon to return againwith him to the village, and from thence to go for a while to the littletown, where they would consider what was next to be done, and make theirarrangements.

After the Major had left her, Charlotte sat on, buried in her ownreflections; but it was only for a few minutes. Ottilie suddenly raisedherself from her lap, and looked full with her large eyes in herfriend's face. Then she got up from off the ground, and stood uprightbefore her.

"This is the second time," began the noble girl, with an irresistiblesolemnity of manner, "this is the second time that the same thing hashappened to me. You once said to me that similar things often befallpeople more than once in their lives in a similar way, and if they do,it is always at important moments. I now find that what you said istrue, and I have to make a confession to you. Shortly after my mother'sdeath, when I was a very little child, I was sitting one day on afootstool close to you. You were on a sofa, as you are at this moment,and my head rested on your knees. I was not asleep, I was not awake: Iwas in a trance. I knew everything which was passing about me. I heardevery word which was said with the greatest distinctness, and yet Icould not stir, I could not speak; and if I had wished it, I could nothave given a hint that I was conscious. On that occasion you werespeaking about me to one of your friends; you were commiserating myfate, left as I was a poor orphan in the world. You described mydependent position, and how unfortunate a future was before me, unlesssome very happy star watched over me. I understood well what you said. Isaw, perhaps too clearly, what you appeared to hope of me, and what youthought I ought to do. I made rules to myself, according to such limitedinsight as I had, and by these I have long lived; by these, at the timewhen you so kindly took charge of me, and had me with you in your house,I regulated whatever I did and whatever I left undone.

"But I have wandered out of my course; I have broken my rules; I havelost the very power of feeling them. And now, after a dreadfuloccurrence, you have again made clear to me my situation, which is morepitiable than the first. While lying in a half torpor on your lap, Ihave again, as if out of another world, heard every syllable which youuttered. I know from you how all is with me. I shudder at the thought ofmyself; but again, as I did then, in my half sleep of death, I havemarked out my new path for myself.

"I am determined, as I was before, and what I have determined I musttell you at once. I will never be Edward's wife. In a terrible mannerGod has opened my eyes to see the sin in which I was entangled. I willatone for it, and let no one think to move me from my purpose. It is bythis, my dearest, kindest friend, that you must govern your own conduct.Send for the Major to come back to you. Write to him that no steps mustbe taken. It made me miserable that I could not stir or speak when hewent. I tried to rise--I tried to cry out. Oh, why did you let him leaveyou with such unlawful hopes!"

Charlotte saw Ottilie's condition, and she felt for it; but she hopedthat by time and persuasion she might be able to prevail upon her. Onher uttering a few words, however, which pointed to a future--to a timewhen her sufferings would be alleviated, and when there might be betterroom for hope, "No!" Ottilie cried, with vehemence, "do not endeavor tomove me; do not seek to deceive me. At the moment at which I learn thatyou have consented to the separation, in that same lake I will expiatemy errors and my crimes."

CHAPTER XV

Friends and relatives, and all persons living in the same housetogether, are apt, when life is going smoothly and peacefully with them,to make what they are doing, or what they are going to do, even morethan is right or necessary, a subject of constant conversation. Theytalk to each other of their plans and their occupations, and, withoutexactly taking one another's advice, consider and discuss together theentire progress of their lives. But this is far from being the case inserious moments; just when it would seem men most require the assistanceand support of others, they all draw singly within themselves, every oneto act for himself, every one to work in his own fashion; they concealfrom one another the particular means which they employ, and only theresult, the object, the thing which they realize, is again made commonproperty.

After so many strange and unfortunate incidents, a sort of silentseriousness had passed over the two ladies, which showed itself in asweet mutual effort to spare each other's feelings. The child had beenburied privately in the chapel. It rested there as the first offering toa destiny full of ominous foreshadowings.

Charlotte, as soon as ever she could, turned back to life andoccupation, and here she first found Ottilie standing in need of herassistance. She occupied herself almost entirely with her, withoutletting it be observed. She knew how deeply the noble girl loved Edward.She had discovered by degrees the scene which had preceded the accident,and had gathered every circumstance of it, partly from Ottilie herself,partly from the letters of the Major.

Ottilie, on her side, made Charlotte's immediate life much more easy forher. She was open, and even talkative, but she never spoke of thepresent, or of what had lately passed. She had been a close andthoughtful observer. She knew much, and now it all came to the surface.She entertained, she amused Charlotte, and the latter still nourished ahope in secret to see her married to Edward after all.

But something very different was passing in Ottilie. She had disclosedthe secret of the course of her life to her friend, and she showed nomore of her previous restraint and submissiveness. By her repentance andher resolution she felt herself freed from the burden of her fault andher misfortune. She had no more violence to do to herself. In the bottomof her heart she had forgiven herself solely under condition of thefullest renunciation, and it was a condition which would remain bindingfor all time to come.

So passed away some time, and Charlotte now felt how deeply house andpark, and lake and rocks and trees, served to keep alive in them alltheir most painful reminiscences. They wanted change of scene, both ofthem, it was plain enough; but how it was to be effected was not soeasy to decide.

Were the two ladies to remain together? Edward's previously expressedwill appeared to enjoin it--his declarations and his threats appeared tomake it necessary; only it could not be now mistaken that Charlotte andOttilie, with all their good will, with all their sense, with all theirefforts to conceal it, could not avoid finding themselves in a painfulsituation toward each other. In their conversation there was a constantendeavor to avoid doubtful subjects. They were often obliged only halfto understand some allusion; more often, expressions weremisinterpreted, if not by their understandings, at any rate by theirfeelings. They were afraid to give pain to each other, and this veryfear itself produced the evil which they were seeking to avoid.

If they were to try change of scene, and at the same time (at any ratefor a while) to part, the old question came up again: Where was Ottilieto go? There was the grand, rich family, who still wanted a desirablecompanion for their daughter, their attempts to find a person whom theycould trust having hitherto proved ineffectual. The last time theBaroness had been at the castle, she had urged Charlotte to send Ottiliethere, and she had been lately pressing it again and again in herletters. Charlotte now a second time proposed it; but Ottilie expresslydeclined going anywhere, where she would be thrown into what is calledthe great world.

"Do not think me foolish or self-willed, my dear aunt," she said; "I hadbetter tell you what I feel, for fear you should judge hardly of me;although in any other case it would be my duty to be silent. A personwho has fallen into uncommon misfortunes, however guiltless he may be,carries a frightful mark upon him. His presence, in every one who seeshim and is aware of his history, excites a kind of horror. People see inhim the terrible fate which has been laid upon him, and he is the objectof a diseased and nervous curiosity. It is so with a house, it is sowith a town, where any terrible action has been done; people enter themwith awe; the light of day shines less brightly there, and the starsseem to lose their lustre.

"Perhaps we ought to excuse it, but how extreme is the indiscretion withwhich people behave toward such unfortunates, with their foolishimportunities and awkward kindness! You must forgive me for speaking inthis way, but that poor girl whom Luciana tempted out of her retirement,and with such mistaken good nature tried to force into society andamusement, has haunted me and made me miserable. The poor creature, whenshe was so frightened and tried to escape, and then sank and swoonedaway, and I caught her in my arms, and the party came all crowding roundin terror and curiosity!--little did I think, then, that the same fatewas in store for me. But my feeling for her is as deep and warm andfresh as ever it was; and now I may direct my compassion upon myself,and secure myself from being the object of any similar exposure."

"But, my dear child," answered Charlotte, "you will never be able towithdraw yourself where no one can see you; we have no cloisters now:otherwise, there, with your present feelings, would be your resource."

"Solitude would not give me the resource for which I wish, my dearaunt," answered Ottilie. "The one true and valuable resource is to belooked for where we can be active and useful; all the self-denials andall the penances on earth will fail to deliver us from an evil-omeneddestiny, if it be determined to persecute us. Let me sit still inidleness and serve as a spectacle for the world, and it will overpowerme and crush me. But find me some peaceful employment, where I can gosteadily and unweariedly on doing my duty, and I shall be able to bearthe eyes of men, when I need not shrink under the eyes of God."

"Unless I am much mistaken," replied Charlotte, "your inclination is toreturn to the school."

"Yes," Ottilie answered; "I do not deny it. I think it a happydestination to train up others in the beaten way, after having beentrained in the strangest myself. And do we not see the same great factin history? some moral calamity drives men out into the wilderness; butthey are not allowed to remain as they had hoped in their concealmentthere. They are summoned back into the world, to lead the wanderers intothe right way; and who are fitter for such a service, than those whohave been initiated into the labyrinths of life? They are commanded tobe the support of the unfortunate; and who can better fulfil thatcommand than those who have no more misfortunes to fear upon earth?"

"You are selecting an uncommon profession for yourself," repliedCharlotte. "I shall not oppose you, how ever. Let it be as you wish;only I hope it will be but for a short time."

"Most warmly I thank you," said Ottilie, "for giving me leave at leastto try, to make the experiment. If I am not flattering myself toohighly, I am sure I shall succeed: wherever I am, I shall remember themany trials which I went through myself, and how small, how infinitelysmall they were compared to those which I afterward had to undergo. Itwill be my happiness to watch the embarrassments of the little creaturesas they grow; to cheer them in their childish sorrows, and guide themback with a light hand out of their little aberrations. The fortunate isnot the person to be of help to the unfortunate; it is in the nature ofman to require ever more and more of himself and others, the more he hasreceived. The unfortunate who has himself recovered, knows best how tonourish, in himself and them, the feeling that every moderate good oughtto be enjoyed with rapture."

"I have but one objection to make to what you propose," said Charlotte,after some thought, "although that one seems to me of great importance.I am not thinking of you, but of another person: you are aware of thefeelings toward you of that good, right-minded, excellent Assistant. Inthe way in which you desire to proceed, you will become every day morevaluable and more indispensable to him. Already he himself believes thathe can never live happily without you, and hereafter, when he has becomeaccustomed to have you to work with him, he will be unable to carry onhis business if he loses you; you will have assisted him at thebeginning only to injure him in the end."

"Destiny has not dealt with me with too gentle a hand," replied Ottilie;"and whoever loves me has perhaps not much better to expect. Our friendis so good and so sensible, that I hope he will be able to reconcilehimself to remaining in a simple relation with me; he will learn to seein me a consecrated person, lying under the shadow of an awful calamity,and only able to support herself and bear up against it by devotingherself to that Holy Being who is invisibly around us, and alone is ableto shield us from the dark powers which threaten to overwhelm us."

All this, which the dear girl poured out so warmly, Charlotte privatelyreflected over; on many different occasions, although only in thegentlest manner, she had hinted at the possibility of Ottilie's beingbrought again in contact with Edward; but the slightest mention of it,the faintest hope, the least suspicion, seemed to wound Ottilie to thequick. One day when she could not evade it, she expressed herself toCharlotte clearly and peremptorily on the subject.

"If your resolution to renounce Edward," returned Charlotte, "is so firmand unalterable, then you had better avoid the danger of seeing himagain. At a distance from the object of our love, the warmer ouraffection, the stronger is the control which we fancy that we canexercise on ourselves; because the whole force of the passion, divertedfrom its outward objects, turns inward on ourselves. But how soon, howswiftly is our mistake made clear to us, when the thing which we thoughtthat we could renounce, stands again before our eyes as indispensable tous! You must now do what you consider best suited to yourcircumstances. Look well into yourself; change, if you prefer it, theresolution which you have just expressed. But do it of yourself, with afree consenting heart. Do not allow yourself to be drawn in by anaccident; do not let yourself be surprised into your former position. Itwill place you at issue with yourself and will be intolerable to you. AsI said, before you take this step, before you remove from me, and enterupon a new life, which will lead you no one knows in what direction,consider once more whether really, indeed, you can renounce Edward forthe whole time to come. If you have faithfully made up your mind thatyou will do this, then will you enter into an engagement with me, thatyou will never admit him into your presence; and if he seeks you out andforces himself upon you, that you will not exchange words with him?"

Ottilie did not hesitate a moment; she gave Charlotte the promise, whichshe had already made to herself.

Now, however, Charlotte began to be haunted with Edward's threat, thathe would only consent to renounce Ottilie, as long as she was not partedfrom Charlotte. Since that time, indeed, circumstances were so altered,so many things had happened, that an engagement which was wrung from himin a moment of excitement might well be supposed to have been cancelled.She was unwilling, however, in the remotest sense to venture anything orto undertake anything which might displease him, and Mittler wastherefore to find Edward, and inquire what, as things now were, hewished to be done.

Since the death of the child, Mittler had often been at the castle tosee Charlotte, although only for a few moments at a time. The unhappyaccident which had made her reconciliation with her husband in thehighest degree improbable, had produced a most painful effect upon him.But ever, as his nature was, hoping and striving, he rejoiced secretlyat the resolution of Ottilie. He trusted to the softening influence ofpassing time; he hoped that it might still be possible to keep thehusband and the wife from separating; and he tried to regard theseconvulsions of passion only as trials of wedded love and fidelity.

Charlotte, at the very first, had informed the Major by letter ofOttilie's declaration. She had entreated him most earnestly to prevailon Edward to take no further steps for the present. They should keepquiet and wait, and see whether the poor girl's spirits would recover.She had let him know from time to time whatever was necessary of whathad more lately fallen from her. And now Mittler had to undertake thereally difficult commission of preparing Edward for an alteration in hersituation. Mittler, however, well knowing that men can be brought moreeasily to submit to what is already done, than to give their consent towhat is yet to be done, persuaded Charlotte that it would be better tosend Ottilie off at once to the school.

Consequently, as soon as Mittler was gone, preparations were at oncemade for the journey. Ottilie put her things together; and Charlotteobserved that neither the beautiful box, nor anything out of it, was togo with her. Ottilie had said nothing to her on the subject; and shetook no notice, but let her alone. The day of the departure came;Charlotte's carriage was to take Ottilie the first day as far as a placewhere they were well known, where she was to pass the night, and on thesecond she would go on in it to the school. It was settled that Nannywas to accompany her, and remain as her attendant.

This capricious little creature had found her way back to her mistressafter the death of the child, and now hung about her as warmly andpassionately as ever; indeed she seemed, with her loquacity andattentiveness, as if she wished to make good her past neglect, andhenceforth devote herself entirely to Ottilie's service. She was quitebeside herself now for joy at the thought of traveling with her, and ofseeing strange places, when she had hitherto never been away from thescene of her birth; and she ran from the castle to the village to carrythe news of her good fortune to her parents and her relations, and totake leave.

Unluckily for herself, she went, among other places, into a room wherea person was who had the measles, and caught the infection, which cameout upon her at once. The journey could not be postponed. Ottilieherself was urgent to go. She had traveled once already the same road.She knew the people of the hotel where she was to sleep. The coachmanfrom the castle was going with her. There could be nothing to fear.

Charlotte made no opposition. She, too, in thought, was making haste tobe clear of present embarrassments. The rooms which Ottilie had occupiedat the castle she would have prepared for Edward as soon as possible,and restored to the old state in which they had been before the arrivalof the Captain. The hope of bringing back old happy days burns up againand again in us, as if it never could be extinguished. And Charlotte wasquite right; there was nothing else for her except to hope as she did.

CHAPTER XVI

When Mittler was come to talk the matter over with Edward, he found himsitting by himself, with his head supported on his right hand, and hisarm resting on the table. He appeared in great suffering.

"Is your headache troubling you again?" asked Mittler.

"It is troubling me," answered he; "and yet I cannot wish it were notso, for it reminds me of Ottilie. She too, I say to myself, is alsosuffering in the same way at this same moment, and suffering moreperhaps than I; and why cannot I bear it as well as she? These pains aregood for me. I might almost say that they were welcome; for they serveto bring out before me with the greater vividness her patience and allher other graces. It is only when we suffer ourselves, that we feelreally the true nature of all the high qualities which are required tobear suffering."

Mittler, finding his friend so far resigned, did not hesitate tocommunicate the message with which he had been sent. He brought it outpiecemeal, however; in order of time, as the idea had itself arisenbetween the ladies, and had gradually ripened into a purpose. Edwardscarcely made an objection. From the little which he said, it appearedas if he was willing to leave everything to them; the pain which he wassuffering at the moment making him indifferent to all besides.

Scarcely, however, was he again alone, than he got up, and walkedrapidly up and down the room; he forgot his pain, his attention nowturning to what was external to himself. Mittler's story had stirred theembers of his love, and awakened his imagination in all its vividness.He saw Ottilie by herself, or as good as by herself, traveling on a roadwhich was well known to him--in a hotel with every room of which he wasfamiliar. He thought, he considered, or rather he neither thought norconsidered; he only wished--he only desired. He would see her; he wouldspeak to her. Why, or for what good end that was to come of it, he didnot care to ask himself; but he made up his mind at once. He must do it.

He summoned his valet into his council, and through him he made himselfacquainted with the day and hour when Ottilie was to set out. Themorning broke. Without taking any person with him, Edward mounted hishorse, and rode off to the place where she was to pass the night. He wasthere too soon. The hostess was overjoyed at the sight of him; she wasunder heavy obligations to him for a service which he had been able todo for her. Her son had been in the army, where he had conducted himselfwith remarkable gallantry. He had performed one particular action ofwhich no one had been a witness but Edward; and the latter had spoken ofit to the commander-in-chief in terms of such high praise that,notwithstanding the opposition of various ill-wishers, he had obtained adecoration for him. The mother, therefore, could never do enough forEdward. She got ready her best room for him, which indeed was her ownwardrobe and store-room, with all possible speed. He informed her,however, that a young lady was coming to pass the night there, and heordered an apartment for her at the back, at the end of the gallery. Itsounded a mysterious sort of affair; but the hostess was ready to doanything to please her patron, who appeared so interested and so busyabout it. And he, what were his sensations as he watched through thelong, weary hours till evening? He examined the room round and round inwhich he was to see her; with all its strangeness and homeliness itseemed to him to be an abode for angels. He thought over and over whathe had better do; whether he should take her by surprise, or whether heshould prepare her for meeting him. At last the second course seemed thepreferable one. He sat down and wrote a letter, which she was to read:

EDWARD TO OTTILIE

"While you read this letter, my best beloved, I am close to you. Do notagitate yourself; do not be alarmed; you have nothing to fear from me. Iwill not force myself upon you. I will see you or not, as you yourselfshall choose.

"Consider, oh! consider your condition and mine. How must I not thankyou, that you have taken no decisive step! But the step which you havetaken is significant enough. Do not persist in it. Here, as it were, ata parting of the ways, reflect once again. Can you be mine:--will you bemine? Oh, you will be showing mercy on us all if you will; and on me,infinite mercy.

"Let me see you again!--happily, joyfully see you once more! Let me makemy request to you with my own lips; and do you give me your answer yourown beautiful self, on my breast, Ottilie! where you have so oftenrested, and which belongs to you for ever!"

As he was writing, the feeling rushed over him that what he was longingfor was coming--was close--would be there almost immediately. By thatdoor she would come in; she would read that letter; she in her ownperson would stand there before him as she used to stand; she for whoseappearance he had thirsted so long. Would she be the same as shewas?--was her form, were her feelings changed? He still held the pen inhis hand; he was going to write as he thought, when the carriage rolledinto the court. With a few hurried strokes he added: "I hear you coming.For a moment, farewell!"

He folded the letter, and directed it. He had no time for sealing. Hedarted into the room through which there was a second outlet into thegallery, when the next moment he recollected that he had left his watchand seals lying on the table. She must not see these first. He ran backand brought them away with him. At the same instant he heard the hostessin the antechamber showing Ottilie the way to her apartments. He sprangto the bedroom door. It was shut. In his haste, as he had come back forhis watch, he had forgotten to take out the key, which had fallen out,and lay the other side. The door had closed with a spring, and he couldnot open it. He pushed at it with all his might, but it would not yield.Oh, how gladly would he have been a spirit, to escape through itscracks! In vain. He hid his face against the panels. Ottilie entered,and the hostess, seeing him, retired. From Ottilie herself, too, hecould not remain concealed for a moment. He turned toward her; and therestood the lovers once more, in such strange fashion, in each other'spresence. She looked at him calmly and earnestly, without advancing orretiring. He made a movement to approach her, and she withdrew a fewsteps toward the table. He stepped back again. "Ottilie!" he criedaloud, "Ottilie! let me break this frightful silence! Are we shadows,that we stand thus gazing at each other? Only listen to me; listen tothis at least. It is an accident that you find me here thus. There is aletter on the table, at your side there, which was to have prepared you.Read it, I implore you--read it--and then determine as you will!"

She looked down at the letter; and after thinking a few seconds, shetook it up, opened it, and read it: she finished it without a change ofexpression; and she laid it lightly down; then joining the palms of herhands together, turning them upward, and drawing them against herbreast, she leant her body a little forward, and regarded Edward withsuch a look, that, eager as he was, he was compelled to renounceeverything he wished or desired of her. Such an attitude cut him to theheart; he could not bear it. It seemed exactly as if she would fall uponher knees before him, if he persisted. He hurried in despair out of theroom, and leaving her alone, sent the hostess in to her.

He walked up and down the antechamber. Night had come on, and there wasno sound in the room. At last the hostess came out and drew the key outof the lock. The good woman was embarrassed and agitated, not knowingwhat it would be proper for her to do. At last as she turned to go, sheoffered the key to Edward, who refused it; and putting down the candle,she went away.

In misery and wretchedness, Edward flung himself down on the thresholdof the door which divided him from Ottilie, moistening it with his tearsas he lay. A more unhappy night had been seldom passed by two lovers insuch close neighborhood!

Day came at last. The coachman brought round the carriage, and thehostess unlocked the door and went in. Ottilie was asleep in herclothes; she went back and beckoned to Edward with a significant smile.They both entered and stood before her as she lay; but the sight was toomuch for Edward. He could not bear it. She was sleeping so quietly thatthe hostess did not like to disturb her, but sat down opposite her,waiting till she woke. At last Ottilie opened her beautiful eyes, andraised herself on her feet. She declined taking any breakfast, and thenEdward went in again and stood before her. He entreated her to speak butone word to him; to tell him what she desired. He would do it, be itwhat it would, he swore to her; but she remained silent. He asked heronce more, passionately and tenderly, whether she would be his. Withdowncast eyes, and with the deepest tenderness of manner she shook herhead in a gentle _No_. He asked if she still desired to go to theschool. Without any show of feeling she declined. Would she then go backto Charlotte? She inclined her head in token of assent, with a look ofcomfort and relief. He went to the window to give directions to thecoachman, and when his back was turned she darted like lightning out ofthe room, and was down the stairs and in the carriage in an instant. Thecoachman drove back along the road which he had come the day before, andEdward followed at some distance on horseback.

CHAPTER XVII

It was with the utmost surprise that Charlotte saw the carriage drive upwith Ottilie, and Edward at the same moment ride into the court-yard ofthe castle. She ran down to the hall. Ottilie alighted, and approachedher and Edward. Violently and eagerly she caught the hands of the wifeand husband, pressed them together, and hurried off to her own room.Edward threw himself on Charlotte's neck and burst into tears. He couldnot give her any explanation; he besought her to have patience with him,and to go at once to see Ottilie. Charlotte followed her to her room,and she could not enter it without a shudder. It had been all clearedout. There was nothing to be seen but the empty walls, which stood therelooking cheerless, vacant, and miserable. Everything had been carriedaway except the little box, which from an uncertainty what was to bedone with it, had been left in the middle of the room. Ottilie was lyingstretched upon the ground, her arm and head leaning across the cover.Charlotte bent anxiously over her, and asked what had happened; but shereceived no answer.

Her maid had come with restoratives. Charlotte left her with Ottilie,and herself hastened back to Edward. She found him in the saloon, but hecould tell her nothing.

He threw himself down before her; he bathed her hands with tears; heflew to his own room, and she was going to follow him thither, when shemet his valet. From this man she gathered as much as he was able totell. The rest she put together in her own thoughts as well as shecould, and then at once set herself resolutely to do what the exigenciesof the moment required. Ottilie's room was put to rights again asquickly as possible; Edward found his, to the last paper, exactly as hehad left it.

The three appeared again to fall into some sort of relation with oneanother. But Ottilie persevered in her silence, and Edward could donothing except entreat his wife to exert a patience which seemed wantingto himself. Charlotte sent messengers to Mittler and to the Major. Thefirst was absent from home and could not be found. The latter came. Tohim Edward poured out all his heart, confessing every most triflingcircumstance to him, and thus Charlotte learnt fully what had passed;what it had been which had produced such violent excitement, and how sostrange an alteration of their mutual position had been brought about.

She spoke with the utmost tenderness to her husband. She had nothing toask of him, except that for the present he would leave the poor girl toherself. Edward was not insensible to the worth, the affection, thestrong sense of his wife; but his passion absorbed him exclusively.Charlotte tried to cheer him with hopes. She promised that she herselfwould make no difficulties about the separation; but it had small effectwith him. He was so much shaken that hope and faith alternately forsookhim. A species of insanity appeared to have taken possession of him. Heurged Charlotte to promise to give her hand to the Major. To satisfy himand to humor him, she did what he required. She engaged to becomeherself the wife of the Major, in the event of Ottilie consenting to themarriage with Edward; with this express condition, however, that for thepresent the two gentlemen should go abroad together. The Major had aforeign appointment from the Court, and it was settled that Edwardshould accompany him. They arranged it all together, and in doing sofound a sort of comfort for themselves in the sense that at leastsomething was being done.

In the meantime they had to remark that Ottilie took scarcely anythingto eat or drink. She still persisted in refusing to speak. They at firstused to talk to her, but it appeared to distress her, and they left itoff. We are not, universally at least, so weak as to persist intorturing people for their good. Charlotte thought over what couldpossibly be done. At last she fancied it might be well to ask theAssistant of the school to come to them. He had much influence withOttilie, and had been writing with much anxiety to inquire the cause ofher not having arrived at the time he had been expecting her; but as yetshe had not sent him any answer.

In order not to take Ottilie by surprise, they spoke of their intentionof sending this invitation in her presence. It did not seem to pleaseher; she thought for some little time; at last she appeared to haveformed some resolution. She retired to her own room, and before theevening sent the following letter to the assembled party:

OTTILIE TO HER FRIENDS

"Why need I express in words, my dear friends, what is in itself soplain? I have stepped out of my course, and I cannot recover it again. Amalignant spirit which has gained power over me seems to hinder me fromwithout, even if within I could again become at peace with myself.

"My purpose was entirely firm to renounce Edward, and to separate myselffrom him for ever. I had hoped that we might never meet again; it hasturned out otherwise. Against his own will he stood before me. Tooliterally, perhaps, I have observed my promise never to admit him intoconversation with me. My conscience and the feelings of the moment keptme silent toward him at the time, and now I have nothing more to say. Ihave taken upon myself, under the accidental impulse of the moment, adifficult vow, which if it had been formed deliberately, might perhapsbe painful and distressing. Let me now persist in the observance of itso long as my heart shall enjoin it to me. Do not call in any one tomediate; do not insist upon my speaking; do not urge me to eat or todrink more than I absolutely must. Bear with me and let me alone, and sohelp me on through the time; I am young, and youth has many unexpectedmeans of restoring itself. Endure my presence among you; cheer me withyour love; make me wiser and better with what you say to one another:but leave me to my own inward self."

The two friends had made all preparation for their journey, but theirdeparture was still delayed by the formalities of the foreignappointment of the Major, a delay most welcome to Edward. Ottilie'sletter had roused all his eagerness again; he had gathered hope andcomfort from her words, and now felt himself encouraged and justified inremaining and waiting. He declared, therefore, that he would not go; itwould be folly, indeed, he cried, of his own accord, to throw away, byover precipitateness, what was most valuable and most necessary to him,when although there was a danger of losing it, there was nevertheless achance that it might be preserved. "What is the right name of conductsuch as that?" he said. "It is only that we desire to show that we areable to will and to choose. I myself, under the influences of the sameridiculous folly, have torn myself away, days before there was anynecessity for it, from my friends, merely that I might not be forced togo by the definite expiration of my term. This time I will stay: whatreason is there for my going; is she not already removed far enough fromme? I am not likely now to catch her hand or press her to my heart; Icould not even think of it without a shudder. She has not separatedherself from me; she has raised herself far above me."

And so he remained as he desired, as he was obliged; but he was nevereasy except when he found himself with Ottilie. She, too, had the samefeeling with him; she could not tear herself away from the same happynecessity. On all sides they exerted an indescribable, almost magicalpower of attraction over each other. Living, as they were, under oneroof, without even so much as thinking of each other, although theymight be occupied with other things, or diverted this way or that way bythe other members of the party, they always drew together. If they werein the same room, in a short time they were sure to be either standingor sitting near each other; they were only easy when as close togetheras they could be, but they were then completely happy. To be near wasenough; there was no need for them either to look or to speak: they didnot seek to touch one another, or make sign or gesture, but merely to betogether. Then there were not two persons, there was but one person inunconscious and perfect content, at peace with itself and with theworld. So it was that, if either of them had been imprisoned at thefurther end of the house, the other would by degrees, without intendingit, have moved forward like a bird toward its mate; life to them was ariddle, the solution of which they could find only in union.

Ottilie was throughout so cheerful and quiet that they were able to feelperfectly easy about her; she was seldom absent from the society of herfriends: all that she had desired was that she might be allowed to eatalone, with no one to attend upon her but Nanny.

What habitually befalls any person repeats itself more often than one isapt to suppose, because his own nature gives the immediate occasion forit. Character, individuality, inclination, tendency, locality,circumstance, and habits, form together a whole, in which every manmoves as in an atmosphere, and where only he feels himself at ease inhis proper element.

And so we find men, of whose changeableness so many complaints aremade, after many years, to our surprise, unchanged, and in all theirinfinite tendencies, outward and inward, unchangeable.

Thus in the daily life of our friends, almost everything glided on againin its old smooth track. Ottilie still displayed by many silentattentions her obliging nature, and the others, like her, continued eachthemselves; and then the domestic circle exhibited an image of theirformer life, so like it that they might be pardoned if at times theydreamt that it might all be again as it was.

The autumn days, which were of the same length with those old springdays, brought the party back into the house out of the air about thesame hour. The gay fruits and flowers which belonged to the season mighthave made them fancy it was now the autumn of that first spring, and theinterval dropped out and forgotten; for the flowers which now wereblooming were the same as those which then they had sown, and the fruitswhich were now ripening on the trees were those which at that time theyhad seen in blossom.

The Major went backward and forward, and Mittler came frequently. Theevenings were generally spent in exactly the same way. Edward usuallyread aloud, with more life and feeling than before; much better, andeven, it may be said, with more cheerfulness. It appeared as if he wasendeavoring, by light-heartedness as much as by devotion, to quickenOttilie's torpor into life, and dissolve her silence. He seated himselfin the same position as he used to do, that she might look over hisbook; he was uneasy and distracted unless she was doing so, unless hewas sure that she was following his words with her eyes.

Every trace had vanished of the unpleasant, ungracious feelings of theintervening time. No one had any secret complaint against another; therewere no cross purposes, no bitterness. The Major accompanied Charlotte'splaying with his violin, and Edward's flute sounded again, as formerly,in harmony with Ottilie's piano. Thus they were now approaching Edward'sbirthday, which the year before they had missed celebrating. This timethey were to keep it without any outward festivities, in quiet enjoymentamong themselves. They had so settled it together, half expressly, halffrom a tacit agreement. As they approached nearer to this epoch,however, an anxiety about it, which had hitherto been more felt thanobserved, became more noticeable in Ottilie's manner. She was to be seenoften in the garden examining the flowers: she had signified to thegardener that he was to save as many as he could of every sort, and shehad been especially occupied with the asters, which this year wereblooming in beautiful profusion.

CHAPTER XVIII

The most remarkable feature, however, which was observed about Ottiliewas that, for the first time, she had now unpacked the box, and hadselected a variety of things out of it, which she had cut up, and whichwere intended evidently to make one complete suit for her. The rest,with Nanny's assistance, she had endeavored to replace again, and shehad been hardly able to get it done, the space being over full, althougha portion had been taken out. The covetous little Nanny could neversatisfy herself with looking at all the pretty things, especially as shefound provision made there for every article of dress which could bewanted, even the smallest. Numbers of shoes and stockings, garters withdevices on them, gloves, and various other things were left, and shebegged Ottilie just to give her one or two of them. Ottilie refused todo that, but opened a drawer in her wardrobe, and told the girl to takewhat she liked. The latter hastily and awkwardly dashed in her hand andseized what she could, running off at once with her booty, to show itoff and display her good fortune among the rest of the servants.

At last Ottilie succeeded in packing everything carefully into itsplace. She then opened a secret compartment which was contrived in thelid, where she kept a number of notes and letters from Edward, manydried flowers, the mementos of their early walks together, a lock of hishair, and various other little matters. She now added one more to them,her father's portrait, and then locked it all up, and hung the delicatekey by a gold chain about her neck, against her heart.

In the meantime, her friends had now in their hearts begun to entertainthe best hopes for her. Charlotte was convinced that she would one daybegin to speak again. She had latterly seen signs about her whichimplied that she was engaged in secret about something; a look ofcheerful self-satisfaction, a smile like that which hangs about the faceof persons who have something pleasant and delightful which they arekeeping concealed from those whom they love. No one knew that she spentmany hours in extreme exhaustion, and that only at rare intervals, whenshe appeared in public through the power of her will, she was able torouse herself.

Mittler had latterly been a frequent visitor, and when he came he staidlonger than he usually did at other times. This strong-willed, resoluteperson was only too well aware that there is a certain moment in whichalone it will answer to smite the iron. Ottilie's silence and reserve heinterpreted according to his own wishes; no steps had as yet been takentoward a separation of the husband and wife. He hoped to be able todetermine the fortunes of the poor girl in some not undesirable way. Helistened; he allowed himself to seem convinced; he was discreet andunobtrusive, and conducted himself in his own way with sufficientprudence. There was but one occasion on which he uniformly forgothimself--when he found an opportunity for giving his opinion uponsubjects to which he attached a great importance. He lived much withinhimself, and when he was with others, his only relation to themgenerally was in active employment on their behalf; but if once, whenamong friends, his tongue broke fairly loose, as on more than oneoccasion we have already seen, he rolled out his words in utterrecklessness, whether they wounded or whether they pleased, whether theydid evil or whether they did good.

The evening before the birthday, the Major and Charlotte were sittingtogether expecting Edward, who had gone out for a ride; Mittler waswalking up and down the saloon; Ottilie was in her own room, laying outthe dress which she was to wear on the morrow, and making signs to hermaid about a number of things, which the girl, who perfectly understoodher silent language, arranged as she was ordered.

Mittler had fallen exactly on his favorite subject. One of the points onwhich he used most to insist was, that in the education of children, aswell as in the conduct of nations, there was nothing more worthless andbarbarous than laws and commandments forbidding this and that action."Man is naturally active," he said, "wherever he is; and if you know howto tell him what to do, he will do it immediately, and keep straight inthe direction in which you set him. I myself, in my own circle, am farbetter pleased to endure faults and mistakes, till I know what theopposite virtue is that I am to enjoin, than to be rid of the faults andto have nothing good to put in their place. A man is really glad to dowhat is right and sensible, if he only knows how to get at it. It is nosuch great matter with him; he does it because he must have something todo, and he thinks no more about it afterward than he does of thesilliest freaks which he engaged in out of the purest idleness. I cannottell you how it annoys me to hear people going over and over those TenCommandments in teaching children. The fifth is a thoroughly beautiful,rational, preceptive precept. 'Thou shalt honor thy father and thymother.' If the children will inscribe that well upon their hearts, theyhave the whole day before them to put it in practice. But the sixth now?What can we say to that? 'Thou shalt do no murder;' as if any man everfelt the slightest general inclination to strike another man dead. Menwill hate sometimes; they will fly into passions and forget themselves;and as a consequence of this or other feelings, it may easily come nowand then to a murder; but what a barbarous precaution it is to tellchildren that they are not to kill or murder! If the commandment ran,'Have a regard for the life of another--put away whatever can do himhurt--save him though with peril to yourself--if you injure him,consider that you are injuring yourself;'--that is the form which shouldbe in use among educated, reasonable people. And in our Catechismteaching we have only an awkward clumsy way of sliding into it, througha 'what do you mean by that?'

"And as for the seventh; that is utterly detestable. What! to stimulatethe precocious curiosity of children to pry into dangerous mysteries; toobtrude violently upon their imaginations, ideas and notions whichbeyond all things you should wish to keep from them! It were far betterif such actions as that commandment speaks of were dealt witharbitrarily by some secret tribunal, than prated openly of before churchand congregation--"

At this moment Ottilie entered the room.

"'Thou shalt not commit adultery,'"--Mittler went on--"How coarse! howbrutal! What a different sound it has, if you let it run, 'Thou shalthold in reverence the bond of marriage. When thou seest a husband and awife between whom there is true love, thou shalt rejoice in it, andtheir happiness shall gladden thee like the cheerful light of abeautiful day. If there arise anything to make division between them,thou shalt use thy best endeavor to clear it away. Thou shalt labor topacify them, and to soothe them; to show each of them the excellenciesof the other. Thou shalt not think of thyself, but purely anddisinterestedly thou shalt seek to further the well-being of others, andmake them feel what a happiness is that which arises out of all dutydone; and especially out of that duty which holds man and wifeindissolubly bound together.'"

Charlotte felt as if she was sitting on hot coals. The situation wasthe more distressing, as she was convinced that Mittler was not thinkingthe least where he was or what he was saying; and before she was able tointerrupt him, she saw Ottilie, after changing color painfully for a fewseconds, rise and leave the room.

"All the rest," replied Mittler, "if I may only insist first on thefoundation of the whole of them."

At this moment Nanny rushed in, screaming and crying: "She is dying; theyoung lady is dying; come to her, come."

Ottilie had found her way back with extreme difficulty to her own room.The beautiful things which she was to wear the next day were laid out ona number of chairs; and the girl, who had been running from one to theother, staring at them and admiring them, called out in her ecstasy,"Look, dearest madam, only look! There is a bridal dress worthy of you."

Ottilie heard the word, and sank upon the sofa. Nanny saw her mistressturn pale, fall back, and faint. She ran for Charlotte, who came. Themedical friend was on the spot in a moment. He thought it was nothingbut exhaustion. He ordered some strong soup to be brought. Ottilierefused it with an expression of loathing: it almost threw her intoconvulsions, when they put the cup to her lips. A light seemed to breakon the physician: he asked hastily and anxiously what Ottilie had takenthat day. The little girl hesitated. He repeated his question, and shethen acknowledged that Ottilie had taken nothing.

There was a nervousness of manner about Nanny which made him suspicious.He carried her with him into the adjoining room; Charlotte followed; andthe girl threw herself on her knees, and confessed that for a long timepast Ottilie had taken as good as nothing; at her mistress's urgentrequest, she had herself eaten the food which had been brought for her;she had said nothing about it, because Ottilie had by signs alternatelybegged her not to tell any one, and threatened her if she did; and, asshe innocently added, "because it was so nice."

The Major and Mittler now came up as well. They found Charlotte busywith the physician. The pale, beautiful girl was sitting, apparentlyconscious, in the corner of the sofa. They had begged her to lie down;she had declined to do this; but she made signs to have her box brought,and resting her feet upon it, placed herself in an easy, half recumbentposition. She seemed to be wishing to take leave; and by her gestures,was expressing to all about her the tenderest affection, love,gratitude, entreaties for forgiveness, and the most heartfelt farewell.

Edward, on alighting from his horse, was informed of what had happened;he rushed to the room; threw himself down at her side; and seizing herhand, deluged it with silent tears. In this position he remained a longtime. At last he called out: "And am I never more to hear your voice?Will you not turn back toward life, to give me one single word? Well,then, very well. I will follow you yonder, and there we will speak inanother language."

She pressed his hand with all the strength she had; she gazed at himwith a glance full of life and full of love; and drawing a long breath,and for a little while moving her lips inarticulately, with a tendereffort of affection she called out, "Promise me to live;" and then fellback immediately.

"I promise, I promise!" he cried to her; but he cried only after her;she was already gone.

After a miserable night, the care of providing for the loved remainsfell upon Charlotte. The Major and Mittler assisted her. Edward'scondition was utterly pitiable. His first thought, when he was in anydegree recovered from his despair, and able to collect himself, was,that Ottilie should not be carried out of the castle; she should be keptthere, and attended upon as if she were alive: for she was not dead; itwas impossible that she should be dead. They did what he desired; atleast, so far as that they did not do what he had forbidden. He did notask to see her.

There was now a second alarm, and a further cause for anxiety. Nanny,who had been spoken to sharply by the physician, had been compelled bythreats to confess, and after her confession had been overwhelmed withreproaches, had now disappeared. After a long search she was found; butshe appeared to be out of her mind. Her parents took her home; but thegentlest treatment had no effect upon her, and she had to be locked upfor fear she would run away again.

They succeeded by degrees in recovering Edward from the extreme agony ofdespair; but only to make him more really wretched. He now saw clearly,he could not doubt how, that the happiness of his life was gone from himfor ever. It was suggested to him that if Ottilie was placed in thechapel, she would still remain among the living, and it would be a calm,quiet, peaceful home for her. There was much difficulty in obtaining hisconsent; he would only give it under condition that she should be takenthere in an open coffin; that the vault in which she was laid, ifcovered at all, should be only covered with glass, and a lamp should bekept always burning there. It was arranged that this should be done, andthen he seemed resigned.

They clothed the delicate body in the festal dress, which she hadherself prepared. A garland of asters was wreathed about her head, whichshone sadly there like melancholy stars. To decorate the bier and thechurch and chapel, the gardens were robbed of their beauty; they laydesolate, as if a premature winter had blighted all their loveliness. Inthe earliest morning she was borne in an open coffin out of the castle,and the heavenly features were once more reddened with the rising sun.The mourners crowded about her as she was being taken along. None wouldgo before; none would follow; every one would be where she was, everyone would enjoy her presence for the last time. Men and women and littleboys--there was not one unmoved; least of all to be consoled were thegirls, who felt most immediately what they had lost.

Nanny was not present; it had been thought better not to allow it, andthey had kept secret from her the day and the hour of the funeral. Shewas at her parents' house, closely watched, in a room looking toward thegarden. But when she heard the bells tolling, she knew too well whatthey meant; and her attendant having left her out of curiosity to seethe funeral, she escaped out of the window into a passage, and fromthence, finding all the doors locked, into an upper open loft. At thismoment the funeral was passing through the village, which had been allfreshly strewed with leaves. Nanny saw her mistress plainly close belowher, more plainly, more entirely, than any one in the processionunderneath; she appeared to be lifted above the earth, borne as it wereon clouds or waves, and the girl fancied she was making signs to her;her senses swam, she tottered, swayed herself for a moment on the edge,and fell to the ground. The crowd drew asunder on all sides with a cryof horror. In the tumult and confusion, the bearers were obliged to setdown the coffin; the girl lay close by it; it seemed as if every limbwas broken. They lifted her up, and by accident or providentially shewas allowed to lean over the body; she appeared, indeed, to beendeavoring, with what remained to her of life, to reach her belovedmistress. Scarcely, however, had the loosely hanging limbs touchedOttilie's robe, and the powerless finger rested on the folded hands,than the girl started up, and first raising her arms and eyes towardheaven, flung herself down upon her knees before the coffin, and gazedwith passionate devotion at her mistress.

At last she sprang, as if inspired, from off the ground, and cried witha voice of ecstasy: "Yes, she has forgiven me; what no man, what Imyself could never have forgiven. God forgives me through her look, hermotion, her lips.

"Now she is lying again so still and quiet, but you saw how she raisedherself up, and unfolded her hands and blessed me, and how kindly shelooked at me. You all heard, you can witness that she said to me: 'Youare forgiven.' I am not a murderess any more. She has forgiven me. Godhas forgiven me, and no one may now say anything more against me."

The people stood crowding around her. They were amazed; they listenedand looked this way and that, and no one knew what should next be done."Bear her on to her rest," said the girl. "She has done her part; shehas suffered, and cannot now remain any more amongst us." The bier movedon, Nanny now following it; and thus they reached the church and thechapel.

So now stood the coffin of Ottilie, with the child's coffin at her head,and her box at her feet, inclosed in a resting-place of massive oak. Awoman had been provided to watch the body for the first part of thetime, as it lay there so beautiful beneath its glass covering. But Nannywould not permit this duty to be taken from herself. She would remainalone without a companion, and attend to the lamp which was now kindledfor the first time; and she begged to be allowed to do it with so mucheagerness and perseverance, that they let her have her way, to preventany greater evil that might ensue.

But she did not long remain alone. As night was falling, and the hanginglamp began to exercise its full right and shed abroad a larger lustre,the door opened and the Architect entered the chapel. The chastelyornamented walls in the mild light looked more strange, more awful, moreantique, than he was prepared to see them. Nanny was sitting on one sideof the coffin. She recognized him immediately; but she pointed insilence to the pale form of her mistress. And there stood he on theother side, in the vigor of youth and of grace, with his arms drooping,and his hands clasped piteously together, motionless, with head and eyeinclined over the inanimate body.

Once already he had stood thus before in the Belisarius; he had nowinvoluntarily fallen into the same attitude. And this time hownaturally! Here, too, was something of inestimable worth thrown downfrom its high estate. _There_ were courage, prudence, power, rank, andwealth in one single man, lost irrevocably; there were qualities which,in decisive moments, had been of indispensable service to the nation andthe prince; but which, when the moment was passed, were no more valued,but flung aside and neglected, and cared for no longer. And _here_ weremany other silent virtues, which had been summoned but a little timebefore by nature out of the depths of her treasures, and now sweptrapidly away again by her careless hand--rare, sweet, lovely virtues,whose peaceful workings the thirsty world had welcomed, while it hadthem, with gladness and joy; and now was sorrowing for them inunavailing desire.

Both the youth and the girl were silent for a long time. But when shesaw the tears streaming fast down his cheeks, and he appeared to besinking under the burden of his sorrow, she spoke to him with so muchtruthfulness and power, with such kindness and such confidence, that,astonished at the flow of her words, he was able to recover himself, andhe saw his beautiful friend floating before him in the new life of ahigher world. His tears ceased flowing; his sorrow grew lighter: on hisknees he took leave of Ottilie, and with a warm pressure of the hand ofNanny, he rode away from the spot into the night without having seen asingle other person.

The surgeon had, without the girl being aware of it, remained all nightin the church; and when he went in the morning to see her, he found hercheerful and tranquil. He was prepared for wild aberrations. He thoughtthat she would be sure to speak to him of conversations which she hadheld in the night with Ottilie, and of other such apparitions. But shewas natural, quiet, and perfectly self-possessed. She rememberedaccurately what had happened in her previous life; she could describethe circumstances of it with the greatest exactness, and never inanything which she said stepped out of the course of what was real andnatural, except in her account of what had passed with the body, whichshe delighted to repeat again and again, how, Ottilie had raised herselfup, had blessed her, had forgiven her, and thereby set her at rest forever.

Ottilie remained so long in her beautiful state, which more resembledsleep than death, that a number of persons were attracted there to lookat her. The neighbors and the villagers wished to see her again, andevery one desired to hear Nanny's incredible story from her own mouth.Many laughed at it, most doubted, and some few were found who were ableto believe.

Difficulties, for which no real satisfaction is attainable, compel us tofaith. Before the eyes of all the world, Nanny's limbs had been broken,and by touching the sacred body she had been restored to strength again.Why should not others find similar good fortune? Delicate mothers firstprivately brought their children who were suffering from obstinatedisorders, and they believed that they could trace an immediateimprovement. The confidence of the people increased, and at last therewas no one so old or so weak as not to have come to seek fresh life andhealth and strength at this place. The concourse became so great, thatthey were obliged, except at the hours of divine service, to keep thechurch and chapel closed.

Edward did not venture to look at her again; he lived on mechanically;he seemed to have no tears left, and to be incapable of any furthersuffering; his power of taking interest in what was going on diminishedevery day; his appetite gradually failed. The only refreshment which didhim any good was what he drank out of the glass, which to him, indeed,had been but an untrue prophet. He continued to gaze at the intertwininginitials, and the earnest cheerfulness of his expression seemed tosignify that he still hoped to be united with her at last. And as everylittle circumstance combines to favor the fortunate, and every accidentcontributes to elate him; so do the most trifling occurrences love tounite to crush and overwhelm the unhappy. One day, as Edward raised thebeloved glass to his lips, he put it down and thrust it from him with ashudder. It was the same and not the same. He missed a little privatemark upon it. The valet was questioned, and had to confess that the realglass had not long since been broken, and that one like it belonging tothe same set had been substituted in its place.

Edward could not be angry. His destiny had spoken out with sufficientclearness in the fact, and how should he be affected by the shadow? andyet it touched him deeply. He seemed now to dislike drinking, andthenceforward purposely to abstain from food and from speaking.

But from time to time a sort of restlessness came over him; he woulddesire to eat and drink something, and would begin again to speak. "Ah!"he said, one day to the Major, who now seldom left his side, "howunhappy I am that all my efforts are but imitations ever, and false andfruitless. What was blessedness to her, is pain to me; and yet for thesake of this blessedness I am forced to take this pain upon myself. Imust go after her; follow her by the same road. But my nature and mypromise hold me back. It is a terrible difficulty, indeed, to imitatethe inimitable. I feel clearly, my dear friend, that genius is requiredfor everything; for martyrdom as well as the rest."

What shall we say of the endeavors which in this hopeless condition weremade for him? His wife, his friends, his physician, incessantly laboredto do something for him. But it was all in vain: at last they found himdead. Mittler was the first to make the melancholy discovery; he calledthe physician, and examined closely, with his usual presence of mind,the circumstances under which he had been found. Charlotte rushed in tothem; she was afraid that he had committed suicide, and accused herselfand accused others of unpardonable carelessness. But the physician onnatural, and Mittler on moral grounds, were soon able to satisfy her ofthe contrary. It was quite clear that Edward's end had taken him bysurprise. In a quiet moment he had taken out of his pocketbook and outof a casket everything which remained to him as memorials of Ottilie,and had spread them out before him--a lock of hair, flowers which hadbeen gathered in some happy hour, and every letter which she had writtento him from the first and which his wife had ominously happened to givehim. It was impossible that he would intentionally have exposed these tothe danger of being seen by the first person who might happen todiscover him.

But so lay the heart, which but a short time before had been so swiftand eager, at rest now, where it could never be disturbed; and fallingasleep, as he did, with his thoughts on one so saintly, he might well becalled blessed. Charlotte gave him his place at Ottilie's side, andarranged that thenceforth no other person should be placed with them inthe same vault. In order to secure this, she made it a condition underwhich she settled considerable sums of money on the church and theschool.

So lie the lovers, sleeping side by side. Peace hovers above theirresting-place. Fair angel faces gaze down upon them from the vaultedceiling, and what a happy moment that will be when one day they wakeagain together!

SHAKESPEARE AND AGAIN SHAKESPEARE[1]

TRANSLATED BY JULIA FRANKLIN

So much has already been written of Shakespeare that it would seem as ifnothing remained to be said; yet it is the peculiarity of a great mindever to stimulate other minds. This time I propose to considerShakespeare from more than one point of view--first as a poet ingeneral, then as compared with poets ancient and modern, and finally, asa strictly dramatic poet. I shall endeavor to show what effect theimitation of his art has produced upon us and what effect it is capableof producing in general. I shall voice my agreement with what hasalready been said by repeating it upon occasion, but shall express mydissent positively and briefly, without involving myself in a conflictof opinions. Let us, then, take up the first point.

I

SHAKESPEARE AS A POET IN GENERAL

The highest that man can attain is the consciousness of his own thoughtsand feelings, and a knowledge of himself which prepares him to fathomalien natures as well. There are people who are by nature endowed withsuch a gift and by experience develop it to practical uses. Thencesprings the ability to conquer something, in a higher sense, from theworld and affairs. The poet, too, is born with such an endowment, onlyhe does not develop it for immediate mundane ends, but for a moreexalted, universal purpose. If we rate Shakespeare as one of thegreatest poets, we acknowledge at the same time that it has beenvouchsafed to few to discern the world as he did: to few, in expressingtheir inward feelings of the world, to give the reader a more realizingsense of it. It becomes thoroughly transparent to us; we find ourselvessuddenly the confidants of virtue and vice, of greatness andinsignificance, of nobility and depravity--all this, and more, throughthe simplest means. If we seek to discover what those means are, itappears as if he wrought for our eyes; but we are deceived.Shakespeare's creations are not for the eyes of the body. I shallendeavor to explain myself.

Sight may well be termed the clearest of our senses, that through whichtransmissions are most readily made. But our inward sense is stillclearer and its highest and quickest impressions are conveyed throughthe medium of the word; for that is indeed fructifying, while what weapprehend through our eyes may be alien to us and by no means as potentin its effects. Now, Shakespeare addresses our inward sense, absolutely;through it the realm of fancy created by the imagination is quickenedinto life and thus a world of impressions is produced for which we cannot account, since the basis of the illusion consists in the fact thateverything seems to take place before our eyes. But if we examineShakespeare's dramas carefully, we find that they contain far less ofsensuous acts than of spiritual expressions. He allows events to happenwhich may be readily imagined; nay, that it is better to imagine than tosee. Hamlet's ghost, the witches in _Macbeth_, many deeds of horror,produce their effect through the imagination; and the abundant shortinterludes are addressed solely to that faculty. All such things passbefore us fittingly and easily in reading, whereas they are a drag inrepresentation and appear as disturbing, even as repellent elements.

Shakespeare produces his effects by the living word, and that may bebest transmitted by recitation; the listener is not distracted by eithergood or inadequate representation. There is no greater or purer delightthan to listen with closed eyes to a Shakespearean play recited, notdeclaimed, in a natural, correct voice. One follows the simple threadwhich runs through events of the drama. We form a certain conception ofthe characters, it is true, from their designation; but actually wehave to learn from the course of the words and speeches what goes onwithin, and here all the characters seem to have agreed not to leave usin the dark, in doubt, in any particular.

[Illustration: THE OLD THEATRE, WEIMAR _From a Water Color by PeterWoltze_]

To this end all conspire--heroes and mercenaries, masters and slaves,kings and messengers; the subordinate figures, indeed, being often moreeffective in this respect than the superior ones. Everythingmysteriously brewing in the air at the time of some great world-event,all that is hidden in the human soul in moments of supreme experience,is given expression; what the spirit anxiously locks up and screens isfreely and unreservedly exposed; we learn the meaning of life and knownot how.

Shakespeare mates himself with the world-spirit; like it he pervades theworld; to neither is anything concealed; but if it is the function ofthe world-spirit to maintain secrecy before, indeed often after, theevent, it is the poet's aim to divulge the secret and make us confidantsbefore the deed, or at least during its occurrence. The vicious man ofpower, well-meaning mediocrity, the passionate enthusiast, the calmlyreflective character, all wear their hearts upon their sleeves, oftencontrary to all likelihood; every one is inclined to talk, to beloquacious. In short, the secret must out, should the stones have toproclaim it. Even inanimate objects contribute their share; allsubordinate things chime in; the elements, the phenomena of the heavens,earth and sea, thunder and lightning, wild beasts, raise their voices,often apparently in parables, but always acting as accessories.

But the civilized world, too, must render up its treasures; arts andsciences, trades and professions, all offer their gifts. Shakespeare'screations are a great, animated fair, and for this richness he isindebted to his native land.

England, sea-girt, veiled in mist and clouds, turning its activeinterest toward every quarter of the globe, is everywhere. The poetlived at a notable and momentous time, and depicted its culture, itsmisculture even, in the merriest vein; indeed, he would not affect usso powerfully had he not identified himself with the age in which helived. No one had a greater contempt for the mere material, outward garbof man than he; he understands full well that which is within, and hereall are on the same footing. It is thought that he represented theRomans admirably; I do not find it so; they are all true-blueEnglishmen, but, to be sure, they are men, men through and through, andthe Roman toga, too, fits them. When we have seized this point of view,we find his anachronisms highly laudable, and it is this very disregardof the outer raiment that renders his creations so vivid.

Let these few words, which do not by any means exhaust Shakespeare'smerits, suffice. His friends and worshipers would find much that mightbe added. Yet one remark more It would be difficult to name another poeteach of whose works has a different underlying conception exerting sucha dominating influence as we find in Shakespeare's.

Thus _Coriolanus_ is pervaded throughout by anger that the masses willnot acknowledge the preeminence of their superiors. In _Julius Caesar_everything turns upon the conception that the better people do not wishany one placed in supreme authority because they imagine, mistakenly,that they can work in unison. _Anthony and Cleopatra,_ calls out with athousand tongues that self-indulgence and action are incompatible. Andfurther investigation will rouse our admiration of this variety againand again.

II

SHAKESPEARE COMPARED WITH THE ANCIENT AND THE MOST MODERN POETS

The interest that animates Shakespeare's great spirit lies within thelimits of the world; for though prophecy and madness, dreams,presentiments, portents, fairies and goblins, ghosts, witches andsorcerers, form a magic element which color his creations at the fittingmoment, yet those phantasms are by no means the chief components of hisproductions; it is the verities and experiences of his life that are thegreat basis upon which they rest, and that is why everything thatproceeds from him appears so genuine and pithy. We perceive, therefore,that he belongs not so much to the modern world, which has been termedthe romantic one, as to a naive world, since, though his significancereally rests upon the present, he scarcely, even in his tenderestmoments, touches the borders of longing, and then only at the outermostedge.

Nevertheless, more intimately examined, he is a decidedly modern poet,divided from the ancients by a tremendous gulf, not as regards outwardform, which is not to be considered here at all, but as regards theinmost, the profoundest significance of his work.

I shall, in the first place, protect myself by saying that it is by nomeans my intention to adduce the following terminology as exhaustive orfinal; my attempt is, rather not so much to add a new contrast to thosealready familiar, as to point out that it is included in them. Thesecontrasts are:

The greatest torments, as well as the most frequent, that beset manspring from the discordances in us all between duty and desire, betweenduty and performance (_Vollbringen_); and it is these discordancesthat so often embarrass man during his earthly course. The slightestconfusion, arising from a trivial error which may be cleared upunexpectedly and without injury, gives rise to ridiculous situations.The greatest confusion, on the contrary, insoluble or unsolved, offersus the tragic elements.

Predominant in the ancient dramas is the discordance between duty anddesire; in the modern, that between desire and performance. Let us, forthe present, consider this decisive difference among the othercontrasts, and see what can be done with it in both cases. Now this, nowthat side predominates, as I have remarked; but since duty and desirecannot be radically separated in man, both motives must be foundsimultaneously, even though the one should be predominant and the othersubordinate. Duty is imposed upon man; "must" is a hard taskmaster;desire (_das Wollen_) man imposes upon himself; man's own will is hisheaven. A persistent "should" is irksome; inability to perform isterrible; a persistent "would" is gratifying; and the possession of afirm will may yield solace even in case of incapacity to perform.

We may look at games of cards as a sort of poetic creation; they, too,consist of these two elements. The form of the game, combined withchance, takes the place of the "should" as the ancients recognized itunder the name of fate; the "would," combined with the ability of theplayer, opposes it. Looked at in this way, I should call the game ofwhist ancient. The form of this game restricts chance, nay, the willitself; provided with partners and opponents, I must, with the cardsdealt out to me, guide a long series of chances which there is no way ofcontrolling. In the case of ombre and other like games, the contrarytakes place. Here a great many doors are left open to will and daring; Ican revoke the cards that fall to my share, can make them count invarious ways, can discard half or all of them, can appeal from thedecree of chance, nay, by an inverted course can reap the greatestadvantage from the worst hand; and thus this class of games exactlyresembles the modern method in thought and in poetic art.

Ancient tragedy is based upon an unavoidable "should," which isintensified and accelerated only by a counteracting "would." This is thepoint of all that is terrible in the oracles, the region where _Oedipus_reigns supreme. _Sollen_ appears in a milder light as duty in_Antigone_. But all _Sollen_ is despotic, whether it belongs to thedomain of reason, as ethical and municipal laws, or to that of Nature,as the laws of creation, growth, dissolution, of life and death. Weshudder at all this, without reflecting that it is intended for thegeneral good. _Wollen,_ on the contrary, is free, appears free, andfavors the individual. _Wollen,_ therefore, is flattering, and perforcetook possession of men as soon as they learned to know it. It is the godof the new time; devoted to it, we have a dread of its opposite, andthat is why there is an impassable gulf between our art, as well as ourmode of thought, and that of the ancients. Through _Sollen,_ tragedybecomes great and forceful; through _Wollen,_ weak and petty. Thus hasarisen the so-called drama, in which the awful power of Fate wasdissolved by the will; but precisely because this comes to the aid ofour weakness do we find ourselves moved if, after painful expectation,we finally receive but scant comfort.

If now, after these preliminary reflections, I turn to Shakespeare, Ican not forbear wishing that my readers should themselves make thecomparison and the application. Here Shakespeare stands out unique,combining the old and the new in incomparable fashion. _Wollen_ and_Sollen_ seek by every means, in his plays, to reach an equilibrium;they struggle violently with each other, but always in a way that leavesthe _Wollen_ at a disadvantage.

No one, perhaps, has represented more splendidly the great primalconnection between _Wollen_ and _Sollen_ in the character of theindividual. A person, from the point of view of his character, should:he is restricted, destined to some definite course; but as a man, hewills. He is unlimited and demands freedom of choice. At once therearises an inner conflict, and Shakespeare puts it in the forefront. Butthen an outer conflict supervenes, which often becomes acute through thepressure of circumstances, in the face of which a deficiency of will mayrise to the rank of an inexorable fate. This idea I have pointed outbefore in the case of Hamlet; but it occurs repeatedly in Shakespeare;for as Hamlet is driven by the ghost into straits which he cannot passthrough, so is Macbeth by witches, by Hecate, and by the arch-witch, hiswife; Brutus by his friends; nay, even _in Coriolanus_, we find asimilar thing--in short, the conception of a will transcending thecapacity of the individual is modern. But as Shakespeare represents thistrouble of the will as arising not from within but through outsidecircumstances, it becomes a sort of Fate and approaches the antique. Forall the heroes of poetic antiquity strive only for what lies withinman's power, and thence arises that fine balance between will, Fate, andperformance; yet their Fate appears always as too forbidding, even wherewe admire it, to possess the power of attraction. A necessity which,more or less, or completely, precludes all freedom, does not comport